


Within Chests Carved With Regret

by TooGoodToBeBad



Series: I'm Hard to Love, but So Are You [1]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Closure? What's that?, F/M, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Blue Lions Route, Post-Timeskip | War Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), but nothing too graphic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-14
Updated: 2020-12-14
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:08:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28070715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TooGoodToBeBad/pseuds/TooGoodToBeBad
Summary: And to Sylvain, who only knew how to form bonds that were skin-deep and paper thin before breaking them into a thousand pieces, this was less than ideal. He knew his connection with Ingrid ran through his blood and took root deep within his very soul. And when he severed that tie, like he knew he would, he shuddered to think of what little would remain of him in the aftermath.Sylvain only knows how to destroy. He also latches on to the one person he really does not want to hurt - Ingrid Galatea.
Relationships: Ingrid Brandl Galatea/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Series: I'm Hard to Love, but So Are You [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2057730
Comments: 10
Kudos: 21





	Within Chests Carved With Regret

"The Goddess does not give us any burdens we cannot bear," Mercedes once told him.

It was a simple enough platitude, the type you could repeat to yourself enough times until it felt true. She'd told him with such a serene smile over tea that he almost believed her.

But the Goddess must have singled Sylvain out. Cursed him, even. Cursed him with a Crest and a lifetime of shallow judgement. Cursed him with a hateful older brother and a broken, apathetic family. Cursed him with a war he was tired of fighting. But this was not enough, no.

The Goddess had also deemed it fit to curse him to fall in love with the one person he knew he could never have: his best friend. Ingrid Galatea. And to Sylvain, who only knew how to form bonds that were skin-deep and paper thin before breaking them into a thousand pieces, this was less than ideal. He knew his connection with Ingrid ran through his blood and took root deep within his very soul. And when he severed that tie, like he knew he would, he shuddered to think of what little would remain of him in the aftermath.

It started off innocuous enough, with shared smiles over meals, inside jokes during war councils, sparring sessions, and countless other mundane activities that felt just a bit brighter when he shared them with her. Until he could hardly believe the words coming out of his own mouth.

“Just stay where I can see you.”

“I’ll stay as long as I can,” Ingrid replied.

That was the moment he knew the poison had taken hold. He’d always been aware of her and her strange insistence on following him wherever he went - her shadow was a comforting constant in his life. She was steady because he was not. And truth be told, it was much easier to distract himself back when they were both students, when there were a dozen other faces to look at and another dozen hearts to break. 

But in the middle of a war, when faces were few and friends were fewer, that shriveled little part of him that still craved connection latched on to the one person he told himself was too good for him. It was fine for the first few weeks, when he could pretend to distract himself with training and the like.

But Ingrid started seeking him out.

On the days when Felix was dark and Dimitri was at his worst, he didn’t have it in him to avoid her. Not when he could offer her the slightest semblance of stability. So he welcomed her with open arms each and every time. 

He could not, would not hurt her. She’d been through too much. Her shoulders were already weighed down trying to carry three broken men, and her footsteps were shadowed by the ghost of a love long lost. 

And in his desperation to avoid hurting her, Sylvain ended up doing what he did best: hurt himself.

His days and weeks were filled with fleeting moments of joy that did not belong to him. Every tender smile she gave him, every bright and gentle laugh she shared in his presence, everything she did and everything she was left his heart in his throat until he was sure he could taste his own blood. Those little rattles in his ribcage and hitches in his breath pushed him closer and closer to a precipice that he knew he should not cross, but he was rushing headlong into it anyway. He was so utterly helpless to the golden sunshine in her hair and the life in her eyes. 

When he could practically taste that sickly sweet sense of longing that lingered after her every “good morning” and her every “good night”, when his friends started making offhand comments about how the two of them were so pleasant together, when he started _hoping_ , that was the death knell. He knew he could never have her. He didn’t know what he would do to her if he did.

And when the burden became too much to bear, Sylvain ended up doing what he did second best: destroy.

He left broken bodies in his wake, a step up from the broken hearts that used to litter the paths behind him. At least this time the destruction was productive - every Imperial killed brought them a step closer to ending the war they've waged for far too long. Every moment spent in the thick of battle was a moment not spent thinking of her and how he was bound to break her at some point. He pushed past his breaking points to feel anything other than preemptive heartache. Until he could replace his emotional anguish with physical pain, because one was much easier to deal with than the other. Until he was too tired to feel so… sad.

Even when the Professor and the rest of his former classmates reminded him to get some rest, to stick to formation, to _stay alive_ , Sylvain never let the words linger any longer than they had to. 

And all he got for his trouble was a few arrows to the chest.

Apparently, riding back into camp with eyelids half-shut and caked with blood and lungs tightening around arrowheads trapped in between ribs can cause quite the uproar. Sylvain felt himself slump forward against the neck of his steed until strong and steady hands dismounted him. The cooling, fuzzy sensation of white magic against his chest was already pulling him into a deep and gentle slumber, despite the endless shouting all around him. 

One voice in particular cut through the chaos and straight into him, deeper than any of the arrows embedded in his chest. 

“Sylvain!” Ingrid’s voice was shaking, and the tears streaming down her dirt-streaked face felt like salt in the wound that he’d gone and torn open. “You are not dying on me! Sylvain!”

The strangled sob that she made as Dimitri and Felix pulled her away from him was an odd sort of lullaby that sang him to a dark and dreary sleep.

* * *

Sylvain’s eyelids fluttered open, hesitantly taking in the sunlight that filtered through the tent flap. Every gasping breath he took reignited sharp stabs of pain all over his chest. He ran his fingers over the tight bandage wrapped around him, its roughness on his fingertips a harsh reminder that he was alive. A sudden shudder left him wincing in pain, but every ache that gnawed at his bones and pulled at his skin was nothing compared to the twisted barbs that tightened around his heart when he saw Ingrid curled up on a ratty old cot by his bedside, a thin blanket draped haphazardly over her form. 

The sound of his shifting woke her, and her bloodshot eyes seemed to see right through him as she made her way to her feet. 

“Hey,” he managed to say.

“Don’t you ever do that again,” she glowered at him.

“Do what?”

“Nearly get yourself killed, Sylvain!” she slumped back onto her cot and stared at her hands blankly. “Don’t scare me like that.”

“These things happen, Ingrid,” he sighed heavily.

“They happen when you… when you fight like you’ve got a death wish!” her voice was loud now, and Ingrid had a lecture that was probably long overdue. “We’ve all told you to be careful! We’ve all seen you and your reckless violence. We _warned_ you. Next time, you… you might not come back to us. To me.”

Her words were doing something dangerous to him, and the barbs seemed to dig in deeper. Every heartbeat pumped more of that poisonous regret through his veins, and he was sure that the traces of it were visible just beneath his skin.

“You’ve just woken up for the first time in two days and the first thing I do is yell at you,” the tremble in her voice was all too apparent, even when she tried to mask it behind a bitter laugh. “I don’t know what you do to me.”

 _But I do_ , some strange, harsh whisper screamed in the back of his mind. _I know what you do to me. You’re killing me, Ingrid. And I can’t get enough._

The strangest cloud, a mix of loathing and guilt, hung over his head, and he could feel its shadow pressing down on him. Despite, and perhaps even because of his best efforts, he’d gone and done the one thing he never wanted to do - hurt her. And the guilt bubbled over into disgust. Disgust at his own weakness and failure.

He let out a shaky breath. “I’m sorry, Ingrid.”

The words hung in the air between them for a moment before fading into nothing. 

“You don’t have to, you know,” she said softly. “Fight so hard to prove a point. I don’t know what point you’re trying to prove, but it’s not working. It’s not worth getting killed over.”

If not for the pain in his chest, Sylvain would have laughed. “I’m not trying to prove anything, Ingrid.”

“You sure as hell don’t act like it,” her tone turned hard and icy. “So what is it, then? Are you just trying to die?”

“I might be,” he chuckled mirthlessly.

In an instant, a hundred and one emotions flickered over her face before her stare turned angry. “How can you say that after everything we’ve sacrificed to get this far? How can you say that when… when you promised you would stop being so careless about getting hurt?”

The moment he saw the tears stream down her face, that dreadful coil of nauseous anguish began to unwind in the pit of his stomach. He truly was cursed. He’d always known he was capable of destroying Ingrid; he just didn’t think it’d happen this way. Life was funny like that.

“Why are you doing this?” Ingrid choked back a pitiful sob, and Sylvain could feel his throat tighten around his words. 

He shook his head at her. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“That’s not good enough!” she was practically screaming now. “That’s not good enough.”

 _That’s okay_ , his own thoughts were deafening. _Neither am I._

“Please, Sylvain,” her voice was soft and unsteady now. “We care about you. _I_ care about you. I don’t know what I would do if-”

“Don’t say that, Ingrid. Don’t you dare finish that sentence.”

“You need to hear it.”

‘“No, I really don’t!” the roar practically tore itself from his throat, and just the sound of it felt like a fresh wound tearing open skin that never fully healed. “I never beg, Ingrid. Don’t make me beg.”

She stared at him blankly, and whatever was left of his heart was now in freefall. 

“Don’t give me any hope, Ingrid. Don’t make me think that you care for me in ways that you don’t,” he muttered.

Her green eyes widened in disbelief, and he hated how the sadness was still so plainly written in them.

“I do care about you, Sylvain!” she sputtered angrily, and every word left fresh tears pooling at the corners of her eyes. “How can you say that I don’t?”

“I know you do,” he replied weakly. “Just not in the way that I want you to. But maybe… maybe it’s better that you don’t.”

He let his eyes flutter shut. Sleep was the only retreat he had while he was still confined to his bed and too injured to walk away from Ingrid. But she wasn’t leaving.

“Sylvain,” she said, and the sound of his name on her lips was so poisonously sweet to him. 

One look at her face was enough to tell him everything that was coming next.

“Don’t say it, Ingrid. Don’t-”

“I’m in love with you, Sylvain.”

The next few seconds felt like an excruciatingly long eternity, and Sylvain was left to wallow in the disgusting mix of emotions he now found himself in. Childish glee turned into rotten abhorrence in the blink of an eye. Not only did he latch onto his saving grace like a parasite, but he’d infected her enough to make her fall in love with him. Life really was funny.

“I really wish you weren’t,” he finally managed to say.

Instead of the venom he was expecting, Ingrid’s eyes were filled with sad understanding. 

“Please don’t love me, Ingrid,” he bit back a sob. “I’m hard to love.”

He didn’t know when she’d stood up beside his bed, or when she’d taken his hand in hers. Her touch burned, and he could feel himself trying to pull away. But she was not letting go.

“Sylvain, please,” Ingrid’s voice was so soft, so enticing, a siren’s call to lead him to his doom. “Talk to me, Sylvain.”

“You can’t love me,” he whimpered. “You can’t, because I can’t say no to you. I am so hopelessly stuck on you that I will take anything that keeps me close to you. I’ll humor you, and we can play along together. But we both know how this goes. You can’t love me because I can’t love you. I don’t know how to.”

Something stung at the corners of his eyes, and her touch was like electricity against him as she wiped away his tears.

“I’m so far gone, Ingrid. And I’d only take you down with me.”

The tent was silent now, save for the sound of his own heavy breathing and his heartbeat in his ears.

“I won’t let you,” she breathed. “I won’t let you take me down. Don’t you trust me?”

“It’s not you I don’t trust,” he replied with a tremble in his voice. “I can’t hurt you, Ingrid. You’re too good for me. I only know how to destroy.”

She nodded slowly at his words and let go of his hand. 

“There is so much more to you than your destruction, Sylvain,” she said softly. “I’ve seen it, and I’m in love with it.”

His breath rattled like dice in his chest, a hollow shell where a heart should’ve been.

“Please go, Ingrid. Before I cave in,” he said before closing his eyes, which were heavy under the weight of a burden he could not bear.

And when he woke again later, she was no longer waiting by his bedside.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Feedback and comments are appreciated!
> 
> I realized halfway through writing this that this is thematically similar to [You Could Destroy Me](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25730980) (shameless plug!), but it feels different enough to be its own thing. 
> 
> Two sweet Sylgrid pieces must be balanced out with one that is just plain old sad. But things will be looking up for em real soon, I can assure you of that. 
> 
> I hope you guys liked this!


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